


“The bed’s a lot harder than it looks”

by honeybee592



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, First Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 16:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1353802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee592/pseuds/honeybee592
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know how it is. James comes up to talk about the N7 commendation, and your Shepard says, “The bed’s a lot harder than it looks.”</p>
<p>And James says, “You flirting with me, Lola?”</p>
<p>And your Shepard just gives him the ‘you insubordinate prick’ look and James backs off.</p>
<p>But you’re screaming at the screen “yes! God damnit! Take me now!”</p>
<p>Well, this is my version. Not quite ‘take me now’ but definitely setting something up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	“The bed’s a lot harder than it looks”

“The bed’s a lot harder than it looks,” Shepard said.

“You flirting with me, Lola?” James hedged. He could play this game.

“No, really, feel it!” Shepard scooted over to the bed, lifted the cover and pushed down on the mattress. Yeah, not much give.

Not flirting then. Try a different approach.  _You know, I’m softer than I look, wanna feel me?_ No, too obvious. He glanced at the couch lining the wall of her cabin. “What about that?” he asked, nodding to the couch. “That harder than it looks?”

“Well, the leather’s nice and soft, but I think Cerberus upholstered a couple of bleachers with it.” She smiled at James. “Humanity’s best interests at heart, but not their asses, it seems.”

“Or cows.” James added. Leather filled the SR 2, including the cockpit. Joker’d been gracious enough to let James sit in his pilot’s seat once.  _Pew pew pew! I’m saving the galaxy!_   _What happens if I push this button?_  Joker had blanched. _Get out Vega. Playtime’s over._

Shepard and James stood at the foot of her bed, glancing awkwardly at each other, then away at the wall, the fishtank, the model ships. Shepard looked a little lost, like she was unsure of her next move. Strange; she always thought three steps ahead.

James made the decision for her. Figuring he’d outstayed his welcome and not wanting to push his luck any further, he thumbed at the door behind him. “Right. I should really—”

“Stay!” Shepard blurted out. “If you want. It’s not an order. I’ve got drinks.” She rummaged under the table next to the couch. A bottle of whiskey and two glasses clinked as she set them down. Good whiskey too, single malt all the way from Earth. Like what the Major drank. James winced.  _Definitely not refined enough for that_ .

“Uh, I’m more of a tequila guy.”

His heart twisted as disappointment fell over Shepard’s face. Clearly she was desperate to spend some time with him. Though he wanted nothing more than to get shit-faced with her, he couldn’t think why she’d want to do so with him.  _I’m just a Lieutenant_. Surely she’d rather be drinking this with Kaidan, or Garrus (or whatever shit Garrus drank), talking strategy, figuring out how to win this god-damned war. He met her big sad blue eyes. Well, maybe Estaban could look after the shuttlebay for a bit…

“There’s a bottle in Port Obs. Want me to go get it?” He offered.

Shepard nodded, wide grin, eyes lit up, and James’ heart twisted again for a completely different reason.

“Salt I can get too. Not so sure about limes though.”

“We’ll think of something.” Shepard bounced on her toes, already giddy.

James made his exit, promising to return in a minute.

_____

By the time he made it back, Shepard had kicked off her boots and changed her BDU shirt for her N7 hoodie.  _Dios_ , so sexy.  _Worth being N7 just for the fashion range_. She’d put the whiskey away, swapped the tumblers for shot glasses.

“No problems?” She asked as he set down the bottle and unloaded his pockets: a salt shaker, a small sippy bottle, and the two glasses he’d lifted from the bar.

“Nah. Just Scars in the lounge, scaring that rookie with tales of old. Some shit about Saren.” He teased, waving his hand dismissively. “And I found some lemon juice.” He shook the sippy bottle. “Better than nothin’.”

“Hey, I’m not that old.” Shepard laughed as she poured the first shots.

James shrugged. “Before my time, Lola.” He poured a measure of lemon juice into the other two glasses, salted Shepard’s outstretched hand, then his own.

She held her shot glass up and he mirrored her.

“What should we toast to?” She asked.

“To getting old.” Shit, he didn’t know how she put up with him.

They clinked glasses, licked the salt off their hands, slammed the tequila back, followed it with the lemon. James shook his head, relishing the burn. Shepard puffed out her cheeks.

“Damn, it’s been a while,” she huffed.

James chuckled and lined up another shot. Staying had been a good idea, he told himself as the booze settled his overactive imagination. Didn’t help with the ache in his heart. But the medicine for that was sitting opposite him.

“So Lola. Tell me a story. You know, one from before you were called upon to save the galaxy. Again.” He could listen to her all day. And despite his previous words, Garrus’ stories were fantastic too. He especially enjoyed the ones about Shepard. How she’d rescued the turian from a tight spot on Omega so he could rejoin her team. That was one his favourites.  _You shot at her?_  He’d asked Garrus, taken aback.  _Just a little. Had to make it look convincing. If I’d wanted to take down more than her barriers, I could’ve._

They downed the shots and Shepard reclined, wiggling to get comfortable on the hard couch. Yeah, must just be planks of wood under there. She eyed him up, the heat in her eyes matching the heat in his gut.

“Have you heard about how I took down a thresher maw on foot?”

“Please. That was with Grunt.” He waved her away.

“No no, I did it before then, too. Was on some shitty backwater planet. I’ll tell you how it’s done.”

_________

The lemon long gone, salt rapidly running out, bottle nearing empty.

“And then he said ‘what if you sign me on as another Spectre?’” Shepard laughed long and loud; James had no choice but to do the same. The tequila coursed through his veins but he was drunk on more than just that. Shepard sat sideways on the couch, calves and feet tucked under her, knees just touching the side of his thigh as he slumped back. She toyed with a strand of hair. He was suddenly very jealous of that hair. Or her fingers. He wasn’t sure. He just wanted to touch her. So he splayed his legs, just so her knees could push harder against him.

He gazed at her through half-lidded eyes while she gazed back, a small smile playing on her lips. They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, just watching each other, lost in their own thoughts. Was she thinking the same thing as him? He suspected she might be as her hand fell from her hair to rest on his shoulder. A dozen comments ran though this head all at once.  _Like what you see, Lola? Can I kiss you? Shall we test that bed out? Can I just stay in your orbit and never leave?_

With a squeeze to his muscles, she broke the spell.

“You got massive trapezius.” She said, squeezing again. “Seriously. Massive. You sure you’re not part krogan?”

“I’m a soldier, Lola. Gotta keep in shape.”

She huffed. “Bet you looked like this before you even enlisted.” She was right about that.

“Never heard you complain about it before.” He moved his hand to her knee, just testing the waters. Her eyes flicked to his, then back to his shoulders. “In fact, I  _know_ you like the show,” he added, voice low, humming.

“Yeah yeah, you got me.” She stroked his shoulder, fingers inching closer to his neck. One finally found his skin, traced the hatchings of his tattoo. James flushed. The touch sending all his blood to the surface, and then south. He let out a little shiver and her hand snapped back, retreating to the safety of her lap.

“Sorry. That was… unprofessional,” she mumbled. “Guess there’s a reason why most frigates don’t come equipped with bars,” she added, almost to herself.

Adrenaline surged through James. Mixed with the tequila, it made him ready to do something reckless, something he’d wanted to do for ages, but had never had the guts for. He shifted to face Shepard, leaning in, but before he could push his hand further up her leg, she scooted out and came to a swaying stand. She rubbed the back of her neck, face flushed, looking everywhere but him.

_Defeated._  James looked up at her with the same disappointment she’d shown earlier. Their eyes met and for a second they just looked as miserable as each other.

“Oh, fuck the regs. C’mere.” Shepard growled.

He needed no encouragement. James shot up, lurched over and stumbled into Shepard’s waiting arms. He held her tight and kissed her with all the force he could muster. She held her own, held James up, returning with her own sloppy kisses. Fuck, this was the least graceful kiss he’d ever had but he didn’t care. Hot breath over his cheeks, hands running through his mohawk. His stubble grazing her jaw. They broke off and just clutched each other. Shepard nuzzled into his neck and he dug his fingers into her hair. They held on, like this might be their last night alive. But James had been offered a place at N school, and he was damned if the galaxy wasn’t gonna last long enough for him to earn that badge. He dipped his head, lips meeting hers again. Softer this time. Shepard nudged him back a step. He took the hint.  _Looks like that bed’s gonna get a workout, after all._

“Commander.” EDI chirped over the comm. “Your presence is required in the war room.”

James and Shepard shot apart double time, like EDI’s mobile platform had walked in on them and caught them in the act.

“Uh. Sure EDI. What’s the situation?” She attempted to smooth down her hair, pulled at her hoodie, as if debating if that was too casual for dealing with whoever she needed to talk to.

“Admiral Han’Gerrel and Tali are having a disagreement. You’re intervention would be appreciated.”

Shepard sighed, glanced at James standing at the far side of the cabin, mouthed a ‘sorry.’

“Okay. On my way.” She made for the door with a bit of a sway.

“Lola. Shepard,” James called out, jogging up. She turned and he rested his hands lightly on her waist. “Uh, maybe don’t mention this to anyone else.”

Her hands caressed his chest. “Of course. Wasn’t going to.”

“I-I mean, the N school commendation.” He replied, “And, yeah, that too, I guess.” He thumbed behind him, where they’d stood just a minute ago kissing like the drunken fools they were.

She glanced behind him at the bed, then smiled up at him. “I’ve got to sober up between here and the war room  _and_  stop another diplomatic disaster.” She shook her head in dismay before leaning up and planting a light kiss on his lips. “But don’t you go anywhere. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Heat coiled in his groin at the promise of her words and they shared a wicked grin before she left him alone with his thumping heart and an overactive imagination.


End file.
